


One Cup, Precisely

by torigingerfox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Dramione Duet 2019, Dramione Duet Exchange, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigingerfox/pseuds/torigingerfox
Summary: Hermione and Draco have been married for three years. They live happily in Malfoy Manor, where Hermione has established her Alchemy Laboratory. She's deep in research for a new compound, when Draco shows up for breakfast. What will happen when Draco's tea drops, and teacups might be Hermione's only hope to undo an experiment gone wrong?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34
Collections: Round 11 2019





	One Cup, Precisely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shapphire (ChiakiFujiwara)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiakiFujiwara/gifts).

> Written for Round 11 of Dramione Duet.
> 
> Thanks to my partner for the promtps, I loved them!
> 
> Prompts  
1\. Time apart  
2\. Alchemy  
3\. Mind games
> 
> Also many many thanks to AkashaTheKitty for bouncing ideas with me, to Maloreiy for her life-saving alpha/beta work, and to I_was_BOTWP for being the Titles Queen and for getting my humour so well!
> 
> Last but not least, thanks to Ningloreth for hosting this amazing Exchange!

**MALFOY MANOR, November 15th 2008**

Alchemy was a delicate art.

Hermione had always been drawn to the ancient Alchemy texts, but she’d never signed up for the elective course at school because the memory of Professor Quirrell trying to resuscitate Voldemort with the Philosopher’s Stone had ruined it for her.

Instead, she’d picked it up right after she graduated from Hogwarts, during her internship as Master Potioneer in the newly funded Ministry Innovation Labs. It had taken her one whole year to catch up with all the latest discoveries and theories, and two more to complete her internship at the Ministry as both Potioneer and Alchemist.

Due to the delicate nature of her experiments, the Ministry had granted her permission to carry out many of her tasks from home, in her state-of-the-art laboratory, which was where she spent most of her mornings.

She was a very early riser and liked to work in the quiet and silence, given how a single drop of the wrong ingredient could result in life-altering accidents. Just the night before, she’d read in the Alchemy Bulletin that her esteemed colleague Ferdinando Villa Del Rìo from the Bilbao Academy was now permanently converted into a sentient statue due to an experiment gone wrong. Sources close to the wizard said he had accidentally sneezed into an alchemic compound and started a reaction that ultimately resulted in his bust being placed in one of the Academy’s corridors. A team of experts was trying to reverse the change, but the transformation seemed to be permanent.

Accidents like that were ultimately the reason why she worked with Muggle lab coats and masks, and why she had insisted on having a room with a controlled environment, where only she could enter. Of course, her husband of three years had insisted he should be given access, should his timely intervention be needed.

The ‘timely intervention’ usually involved him leaning on the doorjamb and talking to her while she worked, which she hated. He knew, of course, but had developed a bad habit of drinking his morning tea there before rushing to work.

That fateful morning was no different and saw one Draco Malfoy popping into Hermione’s laboratory with a half-unbuttoned robe on, a piece of toast in his mouth and a cup of tea in one hand.

“Draco, how many times have I told you already?” She put her hands on her hips. Any other man would’ve disapparated on the spot. But not Draco. No, he simply smirked, infuriating her further.

Hermione marched to the door and swatted him on one arm. “This is not a dining room, you prat! You cannot saunter in here with your breakfast. Do you know how disastrous it would be if even a crumb of bread ended up in the cauldron?”

Draco finished the last bit of toast, and then leaned over conspiratorially. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOME, GRANGER?” his voice suddenly boomed.

Hermione jumped out of her skin and started swatting his arm again and again, each blow punctuated by a word. “You – are– a – bloody– idiot!”

He promptly put down his tea cup and fended her off the best he could. When he managed to grab her arms, thankfully before she could dislocate his shoulder, he whispered in his most seductive voice, “Easy Lioness, I am breakable you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “One of these days, Draco, I’m going to conduct some experiments about it. We can skip the slapping this time, and jump to the part where I throw a pewter cauldron at your over-inflated head!”

“Come on Granger, admit it…you like my jokes.”

“It’s ‘Malfoy’ now, and no. That joke is lame.”

He smiled again, one of his secret smiles that she didn’t fully understand but loved nonetheless. He looked exactly the same as he did when he was younger, but smiles certainly suited him better than scowls. 

“Well, my love,” he said, “I have to leave. I’m terribly late for an important meeting. Please don’t destroy the Manor. Will miss you!” And after a quick kiss he disappeared through the lab door.

Hermione shook her head in mock exasperation, secretly glad that eight years ago Draco Malfoy had been so adamant they should go on a date together. They had been together for five years when he asked her to marry him. She wanted to move into a nice country cottage, but Draco roped her into moving to the Manor by holding the proverbial carrot in front of her: a brand new lab all for her. 

A lab that she was ignoring in lieu of daydreaming about her husband.

Hermione quickly turned around to resume working on her project.

The last thing she saw was Draco’s teacup falling down the table—some drops flying into her cauldron. Then there was a small explosion and Hermione was enveloped by a thick pink mist. 

**********

The explosion must’ve knocked her out, because when she woke up the mist was gone.

She shot up and all but ran to the full-length mirror by the door. Once she confirmed she still had all of her limbs (and no extra ones), she breathed a sigh of relief.

After a quick assessment of the room, she realised it was empty but for the table. Luckily she kept back-ups of all her projects and research in her study, or she would’ve lost years of work.

She would kill Draco once he got home that night. He had ruined an important project with his stupid habit of drinking his stupid tea in his stupid flowery cup…not to mention he had risked maiming her for life. Or worse.

Hermione’s hands were still shaking from the shock. She was too agitated to concentrate on her work, and a nice herbal infusion seemed like the best solution to calm her nerves.

She took off her lab coat, placed it on the table and left the room.

The corridor was gloomier than usual. She made a mental note to add a few more torches and change the curtains. She swore they had been lighter that morning, but maybe the explosion had somehow impaired her vision. 

She was still walking towards the kitchens when she stopped in her tracks. 

There it stood, right at the end of the corridor: the horrible painting depicting one of Draco’s great-great-grandsomethings sacrificing his house-elves in a field.

She gaped in horror.

How on earth did the wretched thing get back up on the wall? She had made sure it was taken down and disposed of three years prior, upon her arrival at the Manor.

She’d have to speak with Draco. His meddlesome father was probably to blame. Lucius found these little subversive actions…funny, it seemed.

The kitchen door was ajar.

Hermione opened it and saw Draco with his head in the pantry, surely looking for a box of sweets.

“Well, weren’t you supposed to leave for a meeting?”

Draco jumped out of his skin. 

“WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOME, GRANGER?!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Would you just stop it with this lame joke? It’s getting old.” 

“Wha—this isn’t a joke, Granger. What exactly are you doing here uninvited?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Again.

He was probably trying to be funny because he knew he’d done something he shouldn’t have. “You know,” she said, while opening the cupboard to fix herself a cup of herbal tea, “one would think you would have gotten used to my presence since you insisted so much I move here three years ago.”

He ran to the cupboard and slammed it close. “What do you think you’re doing? And what do you mean I asked you to move here?”

“Draco, honestly. Stop being funny. I am trying to make an infusion to calm my nerves, after you nearly blew my head off by forgetting your stupid cup of tea in my lab. And don’t play dumb, you nearly begged me to move to the Manor. Naiveté doesn’t become you.”

He opened his mouth in shock. “What are you talking about? Lab? ‘Begged’? I—I—did Blaise set this up?”

“Are you feeling sick? Is this why you cancelled your meeting?” She took a step forward and put a hand on his forehead. It was cool, and he was fine. He clearly hadn’t expected her to touch him, since he jumped back in surprise. 

“What’s wrong with you? Oh, speaking of Blaise, are he, Ginny and the kids still coming over for dinner tonight?” she asked. 

“Meeting? Kids? I don’t…Granger, I—I—I need to sit down.”

Hermione would’ve normally found his dramatic little scene funny, if a weird feeling hadn’t suddenly taken residence in the pit of her stomach.

“Draco, did you hit your head or something? Blaise. Blaise Zabini...your best friend. Married to Ginny Weasley for six years now. With two three-year-old twins, Carlo and Filippo!” 

Draco laughed so hard he nearly fell off the chair. “Yes, sure. He totally set me up, right? Because, the last time I saw him, my best friend Blaise Zabini was most certainly not married to a Weasley, nor had he any heirs. In fact, he was exchanging body fluids with Hannah Abbott in the new club in Diagon Alley.” 

It was Hermione’s turn to laugh. “Come on Draco, you can do better than that. Blaise and Hannah are ancient history, she’s been married to Neville for four years now.” 

“Tsk, all of these marriages...and I haven’t attended any. Funny, isn’t it Granger?” 

“Did you drink Firewhisky before breakfast?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “You were Blaise’s best man, and he was yours!” 

“Yeah, sure he wa—what did you just say?”

“That he was your best man at our wedding, which took place three years ago, you bloody prat!” she hissed. 

Draco paled considerably. Which was a feat, since he was already paler than death. “Granger, this isn’t funny anymore. We aren’t married, we are just two apprentices at the Ministry and we are barely on civil terms. Blaise is definitely not married with children, and Neville Longbottom can’t possibly have gotten rid of his virginity.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I know the war has been over for two years now and loads of things have changed, and it’s admirable that you would let Blaise talk you into doing this, but...this is too far-fetched to be believable, or funny.” 

“Draco...what do you mean the war was two years ago?” she asked worriedly. 

“It’s November 15th, 2000 and the war ended two years ago in May. What else would I mean?” 

Hermione shook her head vigorously, as if to shake off the crazy reality that was descending upon her. “We are in 2008, Draco. 2008. We live together, we’re married and I am a famous Alchemist, not just an apprentice,” she said firmly.

“Granger, if this isn’t one of Blaise’s pranks, I think I might have to take you to St. Mungo’s for a quick check. It’s 2000, and we’re definitely not married.” 

“Oh crap, the potion. The potion in my lab, and your stupid tea!” Her eyes frantically searched the kitchen for a sign that her fears were just that: only fears and not reality. “I need a newspaper. _Accio Prophet!_” 

The Daily Prophet flew into her shaking hand and she looked at the date: 15th November 2000. 

She was doomed. She had really travelled back in time. 

******* 

“Set me straight one more time, Granger. In 2008, Neville Longbottom is muscular, tall and handsome?” 

“Well, yes,” she replied, daring him to say something more about her friend. 

“I must say, you don’t look older than you do in this time, Granger,” Draco said mischievously. How she hated that smirk on his face. He reminded her of the...well, of _that_ Draco, actually. 

“Oh, thank you, how kind! I, on the other hand, must say it’s weird to see you with hair on your head. I’ve missed your blond locks. In the future, you go completely bald.” 

The look of pure horror on his face was too funny though, and she soon burst out laughing. 

“Granger! That wasn’t funny!” he boomed. 

“Oh,” she said, while wiping a tear, “but it was!” 

Draco glared at her, his cheeks pink. “Since I am ever the gentleman,” he said, standing up, “ I will fix us both a cup of tea.” 

A couple of flicks of his wand, and he levitated the two cups onto the table. Hermione took hers and inhaled. Mint tea. Lovely. 

She looked up at Draco, now sitting in front of her, and noticed him holding the infamous teacup. 

“I recognise that teacup,” she said. 

“What?” replied Draco. “This horrid thing? Mother gave it to me last night. She insists I must use it for my tea.” He looked at the cup with distaste. “Apparently, it’s a family heirloom. I humor her, since she seems to care so much.”

“Well, that’s funny. You might think it’s horrid now, but in the future, that’s your favourite teacup. You use it everyday,” she said, almost smiling. 

She paused and looked unsure of herself “Draco…” 

He looked at her. 

“Please, I need your help to brew the potion that sent me back here. And... I need to drop that teacup in the cauldron once I’m done. To recreate the exact circumstances.”

Draco looked at the cup, then back at her. “I—of course I will help you!” 

Four hours later, the potion was ready. 

Hermione stood beside the cauldron with Draco in front of her. 

He held out the cup, his hand steady. 

“Thank you,'' she said, taking it. “Without you, I wouldn’t have made it so fast.” 

“No problem, Granger. I hope this works,” he said, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Me too.” 

“Get back safe. I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”

Hermione opened her hand, letting the cup gently sink into the cauldron. 

For the second time that day, she heard a small explosion and was enveloped by a thick pink mist. 

****

A few moments later, the room came into view and she barely had time to register her surroundings before Draco launched himself at her.

“You’re back! I was so worried!” he said. “I had been so sure it would work, but once you were gone it hit me: I didn’t know if you ever made it back. I had no idea how it turned out in the future for us, and I got scared.”

He hugged her fiercely, as if to make sure she was really there.

“Oh, Draco...it worked.” And she hugged him back.

A few moments passed, then she forced herself to let him go and looked around, soon locating the teacup on the floor. 

She kneeled down to examine it. She was sure that teacup had been some sort of catalyst and wanted to examine it. 

Alas, when Hermione took it, the cup crumbled in her hands, leaving nothing but fine, pink ashes on the lab floor. 

They looked at each other, and she stood back up. 

Hermione took Draco’s hand in hers. “So weird. I wonder what was up with that teacup.” 

Draco looked down at the ashes then back at her. 

“Yeah, well...that teacup was a Black family heirloom with a powerful match-making spell put upon it.”

Hermione almost couldn’t believe her ears. A match-making teacup? Go figure. 

“How did you find out?” she asked. “You didn’t know...back then. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. My mother finally broke down and told me right before we got married.”

Narcissa. Her fierce mother-in-law.

“So all this time it was her...?” she asked. 

Draco nodded. “I guess so. And only Merlin knows how glad I am she did.” 

Hermione gently drove his head down, and kissed him like her life depended on it. And he kissed her back just as passionately. 

Then, he caressed her hair and leaned closer. “So,” he whispered, “what are you doing in my house, Granger?”

She smiled back and kissed his chest. “It’s _my_ house, Draco. I am a Malfoy.”

*** the end ****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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